


While Away the Hours

by ehmazing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme, Penis In Vagina Sex, Post-Canon, Rough Sex, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28104984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehmazing/pseuds/ehmazing
Summary: Hubert always disappeared four weeks before St. Indech’s Day, even though every year he swore he wouldn’t.“Yes, you will,” Edelgard had said early in the Guardian Moon, shooting him a flat look from the other side of the pillow. “I’ve got it timed."
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	While Away the Hours

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt: Hubert/Edelgard, rough sex, (service) top Hubert](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2344776#cmt2344776)
> 
> "This is the most basic prompt ever, but there aren't many fics (or art) with them fucking with PiV compared to other arrangements that I love a lot and find awesome, but I really want to see Hubert go to town with dicking Edel down. The exact flavor of this is up to you, whether she demands it from him bossily or he takes on a more dominant stance on his own. It can be the missionary position (or not). He can be collared (or not). Maybe it's "I'm glad your alive" sex. Please and thank u"
> 
> I chose the flavor of fluff!! Rowdy fluff ;)

Hubert always disappeared four weeks before St. Indech’s Day, even though every year he swore he wouldn’t.

“Yes, you will,” Edelgard had said early in the Guardian Moon, shooting him a flat look from the other side of the pillow. “I’ve got it timed. This week, you’ll say it’s all under control, you’ve got an early start this year. You’ll still be fairly confident next week, but much less the week after that. By the end of the month, the façade will crack. You’ll start excusing yourself from lunches, then dinners. On the first of the Pegasus Moon, you’ll send me a note in the morning that says, _Excuse my absence today, Your Majesty, but I must take care of some Household matters._ And the next day, you’ll vanish into thin air.”

Hubert chuckled, skimming his hand down the side of her arm. “I don’t think working on the year-end taxes and budget really counts as ‘vanishing.’ My office is in the same hall. The door still works.”

“I know that. _You’re_ the one who forgets it’s possible to step out of it,” she countered. “Along with the fact that a normal workday is not divided into twenty hours of calculations and four hours of sleep.”

“My mistake, my lady.” He’d grinned as he traced the curve of her shoulder and up her neck to pinch her earlobe. “I forgot yours is a superior nineteen hours work, five sleep.”

The Edelgard of the Guardian Moon had flicked his nose in retaliation and then laughed as he rolled them over with a declaration of war. But the Edelgard of the Pegasus Moon recited the note in the page’s hands without needing to open it, already resigned to her next four weeks without a shadow.

Now, the Edelgard of the just-dawned Lone Moon is too frustrated to feel anything but about tomorrow’s holiday but fed up.

The morning begins the same way every morning does: first the chambermaids arrive to draw the curtains and sweep the hearth, then the footmen deliver breakfast. A representative of the Imperial Household is expected after, with her ladies-in-waiting in tow, to deliver the day’s schedule while Edelgard is dressed. She doubts it’ll be Hubert; he’s skipped the previous six days already. But just in case, after handing her teacup back to the footman, she tugs on one sleeve of her dressing robe until it hangs just-so off the peak of her shoulder, baring the delicate lace of her nightdress and just enough skin to draw the eye.

There’s two firm knocks, and the doors swing open.

“Clerk Raoul Pavik, of the Imperial Household,” announces a very pubescent, very not-Hubert voice. As soon as Edelgard turns, the young man rises from his bow. The moment his eyes land on her shoulder, he flushes so pink that she fears he might actually swoon. She swallows a sigh, straightening her robe back into a modest position, and hopes her smile looks more disarming than strained.

“Good morning,” she says kindly. “I take it I’ll be hearing my daily report from you rather than Lord Vestra?”

Locking his eyes somewhere around her forehead, Raoul manages a nod. “Y-yes, Your Majesty. He sends his apologies—there’s finance meeting at eight.”

“Another? Didn’t he just attend one last night?”

“The committee couldn’t make a decision and agreed to meet again in the morning,” Raoul explains. “But I have today’s report memorized. Lord Vestra said to tell you that the Household will still run smoothly while he’s working on the budget, and he should be able to return to his usual duties after St. Indech’s Day is over.”

Edelgard does her best to look reassured for Raoul’s sake—though Hubert’s clerks always start petrified of her, they usually grow out of it in a few years—even though her hands are twitching with annoyance. “Thank you, Raoul. I have no doubt that he will. You may begin the report when you’re ready.”

As Raoul describes the next dozen hours awaiting her, the ladies get to work pinning up her hair, powdering her face, lacing her into a shift and corset and stack of petticoats. Raoul finishes his report almost exactly as the dressing screen is folded away; she has no doubt Hubert made him rehearse until he was precise to the second, poor boy.

“Wonderfully delivered,” she praises him. She adds conspiratorially, “You should take the long way back to the Household office. Maybe stop by the kitchens for a sweet roll or two—on my orders, if anyone asks.”

Raoul blinks in awe, as though she’s offered him diamonds rather than a ten-minute break. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” He bows again, his cheeks somehow even pinker than before. “And uh, wishing you a good St. Indech’s Day! Wait—no, wishing you um, a good St. Indech’s Day _tomorrow_ , and today just an ordinary good day, but all your days in fact—”

“Good day to you, too, Raoul,” she laughs, and in relief the clerk finally scurries out, ears aflame.

And inadvertently gives her an idea.

Edelgard turns to her ladies clustered at the wardrobe, busy picking out a day dress from its depths.

“No, not that one,” she stops them, striding over. Quickly scanning through the options, she tugs at the sleeve of another. “This.”

The ladies exchange confused glances. The boldest dares to point out, “But Your Majesty, that’s a much finer gown. Much better suited for the holiday.”

Edelgard dismisses this with a wave of her hand. “I have plenty of others to choose from for tomorrow’s ceremonies. Besides, why not celebrate a little early?”

She’s met with even more confusion at that; after all, the Emperor’s disdain for practically all of the Saints’ Days is no secret amongst her staff. After a brief, silent conference between them, the leading lady-in-waiting yet again speaks up: “But with all due respect, my lady, this gown is…well, it’s a bit daring. A very bold choice to lead mundane meetings in.”

“Then maybe wearing it will make them less mundane,” Edelgard says, and ends the discussion by raising her arms to be dressed.

* * *

At ten past nine, Hubert walks into his office, carrying a stack of papers so thick it makes her head hurt just looking at it, and stops dead in his tracks. So do all the clerks, some of their cheeks still bulging mid-chew.

“Ah, Hubert!” Edelgard waves her fork at him, recrossing her legs from her perch on one of the desks. “We saved you some buns. I take it the committee finally came to a decision?”

Hubert’s eyes travel from her, to the large basket of sweet buns, to the still-frozen clerks, and back to her again before he adds up that he’s forgotten to bow. He looks about as tired as she expected; the skin under his eyes is even darker than usual. If she hadn’t built up so much annoyance at his absence, it would be harder not to feel sorry for him.

“Yes,” he says, voice rough from a night of little sleep. “And I take it you’re the reason my hallway smells of cinnamon, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard gets her first little taste of triumph when he looks over her dress as she hops down, setting her plate aside. “I thought the Household could use a treat for all your hard work. Honestly, I’m concerned that you’re not feeding these boys well enough. Timothy here has put away four buns already, and I see him eyeing a fifth.”

“I can assure you they eat three square meals a day,” Hubert grumbles. "Now, what can I do for you, Your Majesty?”

And so, leaning against the nearest chair with leisure, Edelgard deals the first blow: “Oh? Well, nothing.”

Hubert stares in confusion. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” She walks between the rows of desks, stopping close to Hubert, but not near enough to be improper. She appeased the ladies-in-waiting with a shawl to tone the dress down, but a shawl isn’t stopping Hubert’s eyes from wandering. “I only dropped by to deliver the basket from the kitchen. It was lovely chatting with your staff, but I must be going. I’ve got a full day ahead. Right, Raoul?”

Across the room, Raoul perks up like a freshly-watered flower at the mention, but with one glance from Hubert immediately ducks his head back down.

“Well if there’s truly nothing I can do for you, I could at least walk you out,” Hubert offers, but Edelgard darts out of reach.

“I couldn’t possibly impose,” she demurs. “You’re far too busy yourself! St. Indech’s Day is tomorrow, after all—lots of taxes to be filed, budgets to be finalized. I’d only get in your way.” She twists the handle slowly to give the clerks enough time to get out of their chairs and chorus their goodbyes. “Good day, Hubert.”

She makes sure not to look back as she strides down the hall. The weight of his gaze sends a pleasant shiver down the back of her neck. She’s still near enough to hear him warn, _“I’d better not find any icing dripped on my files,”_ before the office door clicks shut, and she’s safe enough to chuckle to herself.

An easy first win.

* * *

At half past noon, she’s already in position to be the first thing Hubert sees when he’s coming down the western turret stairs. Not that there’s much else to see; the palace towers, built centuries ago, weren’t designed to fit two pedestrians shoulder-to-shoulder. She takes advantage of the tight spiral to hide from view, turning the corner just as Hubert’s footsteps stomp close enough to guarantee they’d collide.

“Hubert!” she shouts, grabbing hold of his coat to keep her balance. "I could've fallen!"

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he says, gripping her wrists in turn to make sure she doesn’t tumble backwards. Carefully, he edges around her in the tight space to descend another two steps, mumbling another apology every time he brushes against her. Edelgard bites the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Once they’re steady again, she releases his coat. Hubert’s breathing turns shallow as she smooths out the wrinkles over his chest.

“What news that would’ve made,” she jokes. _“Emperor Found Dead in Stairwell, Nefarious Henchman Spotted Standing Above.”_ At this angle, she towers over him for once. “I hope you weren’t up to anything that would make the coroner suspicious.”

Hubert shakes his head, swallowing as she fiddles with the edge of his collar. “It’s the rookery. I’m expecting a message.” At that his fog clears, and he narrows his eyes at her with suspicion. “But I never see you here. What are _you_ up to?”

“It’s the rookery,” she repeats. “I’m sending a message.”

“You usually send messages through me.”

“And you’ve been hard to get ahold of lately.” She takes her hands away and steps back with a shrug, up another stair. “So I must do it myself.”

“My lady—”

“I believe you have a tax agent arriving from Aegir County,” she says airily, stepping up again. “At twelve forty-five? It’s fifteen minutes to the receiving hall from here if you walk fast, and I know you hate to be late.”

Hubert’s expression flickers between exasperation, worry, and genuine confusion. A slight hint of longing too, she thinks, as she continues up the stairs.

“Go,” she bids him, hearing her voice echo down below. “Only ten minutes if you run!”

She takes her victory lap to the top of the tower with glee.

* * *

At a quarter to three, she gives him a single wave from the balcony above the courtyard.

As the bells toll five, she strolls past the Ministers’ wing just at the offices are letting out for the day, feeling that thrill of being watched again even though she doesn’t bother to look back.

After dinner service concludes at seven, Edelgard retires to her bedchamber again. She folds her shawl neatly and refreshes her perfume. Then she takes up the covered plate she asked for at dinner and with a deep breath, toes aside the edge of the carpet that covers the warp tile.

When the flash of light fades away, she’s only in darkness for a moment until Hubert’s office door opens with a creak.

“Gregory,” he growls from within, “I told you to go home. You can check your numbers again in the morning.”

“Not Gregory,” she calls back, and at once Hubert’s chair squeaks as he stands up in a rush.

“Your Majesty.” Silhouetted in the door, she notes that he looks twice as ragged as he did that morning: his hair is a mess of curls now, his collar wrinkled from scratching at his neck. He looks her over quickly, scanning for injuries. “What’s wrong?”

She offers the plate with one hand. “Your sixth night without dinner.”

Hubert stares at the plate for a minute, and then back at her. Finally, the tension leaves his shoulders with a long sigh. “I installed that tile for emergencies.”

“I believe it counts as an emergency if my Household Minister starves to death before he files my taxes,” she replies. “He’s at very high risk this time of year.”

With that, she brushes past him to enter his office. It takes a moment of searching to find the best place to set the plate down; an avalanche has taken over, covering every flat surface in white paper mountains. She finally decides to plant it atop a filing cabinet, which looks stable despite its stuffed drawers. With a satisfied hum, she goes to leave.

But Hubert blocks the door.

“You’re going already?” he asks.

“You’re busy,” she reminds him. “St. Indech’s Day is tomorrow.”

He drums his fingers against the doorframe, fidgeting. “I’m aware.”

“And by the looks of all this—” she gestures to the file-strewn room, “—you’ll be busy for the rest of the night.”

Hubert doesn’t argue with her, but he also doesn’t move out of the way. Neither does Edelgard; in fact, she dares to sidle closer. An open challenge. She may have to crane her neck, but Hubert also has to bend his.

“Maybe,” he says, voice low, “I could find some spare time.”

“Oh? And how much spare time?” she goads. “Five minutes? One of your spare hours of sleep?"

Hubert’s eyes may be lined, but they still light up as he looms over her.

“Twenty minutes,” he decides. “Starting now.”

And then he seizes her in a kiss.

It’s only luck and determination that keep her on her feet as they stumble through the office. Hubert does an admirable job of steering them to the desk without tripping over any number of objects out-of-sight—something that rolls under her shoe like a pen, something that squeaks like the slick leather cover of a notebook. When she hits the edge of the desk, something clatters against the surface and then hits the floor with a dull _thud,_ but Edelgard is far too busy reveling in her victory to stop and check what.

“You’re so predictable,” she teases between kisses. “I could’ve planned this down to the second.”

Hubert snorts. “Is that what you’ve been doing the last month?”

“It’s not as though I’ve had much else to occupy me.” She palms at his crotch to make her point, and grins when she finds he’s already hard. “We can’t all be satisfied making love to our ledgers every night.”

Hubert groans, clutching fiercely at her hips as he rocks against her hand. “Please leave my ledgers out of this,” he hisses, and then lifts her at the waist to set her on the desk.

She’s well aware of the time limit, but Edelgard wastes another minute on kissing him alone, enjoying every sound she can wring from running her hands over his chest, his thighs, between his legs. But Hubert’s appreciation for her dress finally comes to an end when he decides to take it off of her. Precious seconds are spent as he tugs at the bodice to no avail, too keyed-up to maneuver the tiny closures apart.

“Just rip it.”

“What? Why? You’ve hardly worn it."

She seizes a handful of his hair, pulling his mouth only a breath from hers before she growls, “Hubert, _rip it.”_

He kisses her with enough force to tilt her backwards, and then gets both hands on her shoulders to push her the rest of the way down. Flat on her back atop the desk, Edelgard has just enough time to wonder what on earth he’s doing as he yanks open one of the drawers and rifles through it with one hand. He makes a short, satisfied noise before slamming the drawer shut again, holding some slender object in his hand. He pulls at the bottom of her bodice, working the object with a twist, but instead of hearing the fabric tear, it's the patter of fasteners dropping to the floor.

She can’t hold back her laughter. “Is that a penknife?”

Hubert grins as he cuts the thread of the last one. “This is Albinean silk. I’m not an animal.”

“You’re missing the entire point of this exercise, then,” she scolds him as he pushes her open bodice out of the way. The lattice of her corset is quickly sliced through afterward. She basks in the warmth that radiates through her shift as Hubert smooths his palm down her side. “Be an animal for once in your life.”

“An animal,” he repeats, almost thoughtful. “In that case…”

It’s the only warning she gets before he dives down and bites her chest, right at the top of her breast. A keen escapes from her throat at a volume that’s far past embarrassing. Hubert’s teeth work at the spot while he brings his hands up to her breasts, rolling her nipples under his thumbs until even the thin fabric glancing over them feels too much. There’s no pattern to what his mouth is doing—licking, biting, sucking at the patch of skin right between her breasts—and with each variation she feels more heat pool between her legs. She manages to pry apart exactly two of his coat buttons before he settles on a spot just below her collarbone.

“Not there. Higher.”

Just the feeling of his breath on her wet skin makes her moan again. “You’ll be wearing a scarf tomorrow.”

“I’ll wear a damned nun’s habit if you would just—”

He jerks her chin up and to the side to bite her right under the corner of her jaw. If it stings now, she can only imagine how tender the bruise will be later, how dark it will look against her skin.

Hubert returns to her mouth when he’s finished, his kisses docile and sweet again. Edelgard allows him the reprieve if only to catch her breath. In fact, she’s almost lulled into slowing down for good until he softly noses her cheek and murmurs, “If you really want something ripped, you’ve still got stockings on.”

The image of him doing exactly that—tearing them roughly off, marking up her inner thighs to match her neck until she either curses him or begs for mercy, until he loses patience and finally uses his mouth to clean up the mess he made between her legs—blinds her for a moment. But then she focuses, thinking it through. Hubert is still bent over her, his weight solid and comfortable. She uses her knees to pull him closer, crossing her ankles behind his back to lock him there.

“A lovely thought,” she says, “but not today.” He exhales hard when she grinds against him for a moment, even though her skirts are still bunched in the way. “I’d rather you take a more…assertive approach.”

Hubert chuckles. She gasps as his hand snakes under her clothes and palms her, rubbing her clit slowly through her wet drawers. “Even at risk of being less effective than the usual methods?”

“Less effective? No, I expect you to make it equally so.”

“For a general, Your Majesty, you give such vague orders.”

“And you’re a strategian,” she huffs, clenching her legs tighter around his hips. “So strategize.”

Hubert pushes himself up. He carefully rolls the layers of skirts up until her legs are exposed, smoothing his palms from her knees down her thighs. He wears the same intent expression that he gets when looking over a map, studying the borders, considering routes. It’s an expression that has no right to make her blood spike so hot, even with his face flushed and his hair in hopeless disarray. In an attempt to keep her head together, she reaches up to finally tackle the rest of his coat buttons and pull it down his arms. Hubert doesn’t even look where he tosses it, still staring at her as he loosens his collar with one hand and his trousers with the other— _that_ has no right to affect her so much either.

“I have a strategy,” he says at last. “If I may?”

“Yes, you may stop wasting so much time— _ah!”_

Her taunt is cut off as Hubert grasps her knees to yank her forward, pulling her hips almost off the edge of the desk. Before she loses her balance, he braces one of her legs up against his shoulder and hooks the other at his hip.

Split open like this, he enters her in one firm thrust.

Edelgard doesn’t make a sound, because she’s fairly sure all the air has gone from her lungs.

Hubert thrusts again, slow and deliberate, his hips keeping her pressed apart. With this angle his cock hits deeper than she’s used to, changing the sensation from most other things they do in bed. She scrabbles at her tangled skirts to get a better view as he begins to pick up his pace, and also because she suspects she’ll want something to hang onto.

“What’s the verdict thus far?” Hubert says, turning his head to nip at her calf.

“F-fine,” she manages to pant. “This is fine. Could be finer if— _oh_ —more forward—”

Hubert, brilliant man, takes hold of her hips and leans forward, pushing her leg back, thrusting even deeper, and this time she has enough breath to moan. When he sees her hand race to reach her clit, he tightens his hold and pulls her hips into his with each movement, speeding up. Out of her view, something metallic—a scale? the abacus?—shakes in time as they rock the desk. When they speed up, it does too: _ting ting tingting tingtingting._ It’s so silly that Edelgard can’t help but giggle.

“Do you think this is funny?” Hubert bears down on her again until her leg is bent so far that it nearly brushes her shoulder. He’s trying to look stern, but his half-smile won’t let him succeed at it. “Do you enjoy being so disruptive?”

“Yes,” she whines, abandoning her skirts to grab at his sleeve, encouraging him to keep pinning her. Her other hand rubs at her clit with more fervor, the tight sensation building in her core.

“Do you know how _frustrated_ —” he punctuates the word with a thrust hard enough to knock the mystery object over with a clatter, and Edelgard could swear she almost comes from that alone, “—you have made me all day? And you’re proud of yourself for it?” He dives back in to kiss her chest, sucking her nipple for a brief, wonderful moment before pulling away to prompt again, “Well?”

“Yes, I am, _yes,”_ is all she has time for before her climax steals the rest of her words away, her shout all but incoherent.

Hubert pulls out carefully. He lowers her leg down, massaging the sore joint of her thigh. He slips one hand under her neck to prop her up just far enough to be kissed. It stings where his thumb brushes against the bite mark, but she leans in, humming with contentment at the soft press of his lips against hers.

“That,” she breathes, nudging his cheek with the tip of her nose, “was a very nice twenty minutes. Well done.”

But Hubert pulls away.

“Twenty minutes?” he says. “Not yet. You’ve got nine left.”

Another tug at her hips really does pull her off the desk this time, but Edelgard lands on her feet, still holding tight to Hubert’s arms for balance. It’s a small miracle that her wobbly legs don’t buckle as he guides her into a spin and stops her once she’s facing the door opposite.

“Oh no,” she says, gasping as he grinds against her rear. His arms frame her in, pinning her between him and the desk. “I knew it. You’re going to have me do your paperwork after all.”

“Of course not, my lady.” Hubert sucks at her neck again. That bruise may be staying a while. “To do paperwork, you have to be able to concentrate.”

And then his hand replaces his mouth on her neck, and pushes her _down._

Very few people are stronger than Edelgard, and Hubert isn't one of them. She could calculate the exact amount of force it would take to twist back around and break his fingers—his whole arm, if she liked. But though not her equal, Hubert isn’t weak. His long, thin hands have snapped much thicker necks than hers. The thought of those hands circling around her throat makes her skin shiver.

It also makes her cunt throb.

Hubert must feel the tremor in her pulse, for he ducks down to kiss her jaw again, without any bite. His thumb strokes the side of her neck. His grip isn’t tight, but merely a slight pressure, just letting the natural weight of his arm rest there. The presence, the warmth of being held, feels like it’s drawing all the tension from her, all the loneliness that plagued her in the weeks he didn’t appear. Edelgard bends further, leaning on her forearms. She can feel his cock twitch against her thigh.

“Alright?” Hubert murmurs into her shoulder. His other hand caresses the curve of her hip, squeezing so gently she could almost forget she’s almost half-naked and still wet from the first eleven minutes. She arches her back to press against his cock again, relishing in the sound it steals from him.

“Alright,” she says, smiling as his free hand wanders from her hip to press her folds apart. “Go on. Be an animal.”

Their last position felt deep. But bent like this, Hubert’s cock pushes in, and in, and _in,_ and Edelgard has to clutch the edge of the desk until the wood groans from the strain of her grip. Every quick, firm thrust hits at an angle he can usually only reach with his fingers. _Of course,_ she could laugh, _an equally effective method._ Though the next time they attempt this, she’s going to insist on a more gentle surface; Hubert’s knees are bound to bruise from all this knocking against the desk.

Her second orgasm is already eager to follow her first. She can feel it building up, her arms shaking. With a groan, she adjusts so that she can balance on just one, tipping her head down and reaching under her bundle of skirts so her hand can get to—

In a flash, Hubert snatches her wrist away. He twists her arm behind her back at the same time he drives into her hard, pinning her almost flat. Edelgard has never been more thankful for the empty office; they’d probably hear her swear from the streets of Enbarr.

“Four minutes,” Hubert chides. He drags his cock so slowly she could scream, creating the most maddening friction. Her hand clenches behind her back, still thinking of her untouched clit. “You were so eager to interrupt my schedule, and now you don’t want to use all your time?”

“I do,” she groans. She tries to push back against him, but he won’t pick up the pace. Hubert nuzzles the back of her neck, still keeping her pinned.

“I don’t know… Maybe I should count down, second by second."

“Try that and I will _end your life.“_

He laughs, a puff of hot breath against her skin.

“Exactly what I thought you’d say.” His free hand strokes over her backside, down her thigh, around her hip with leisure, all while he’s fucking her at the same infuriatingly glacial pace. She has half a mind to really break his grip and knock him to the floor so she can finish herself. The other half makes her arch her back against him instead, desperate for even a brush of his fingers, uncaring whether he keeps her on edge for four minutes or four hours. “But that doesn’t sound like a proper request. You should ask me again.”

He knew exactly what she’d say, but Edelgard knows exactly what he’ll do if she angles her head to rub against his cheek, fingers twining with his behind her back, and whimpers with more sincerity than she’d like to acknowledge: “Hubert, could you go faster? _Please?”_

He obliges.

He releases her arm in order to hold her tightly against him, keeping her in place as he thrusts harder, faster, panting into the crook of her neck. His wandering hand finds its way to her clit.

“Three,” he hisses, “two, one…"

Her orgasm punches through her so swiftly that her shout is a good few seconds behind.

But Hubert keeps going, keeps thrusting while her legs are shaking, keeps rubbing her clit until she’s writhing in his arms, all her nerves alight. Finally he pulls out and comes against her legs, burying his face in her hair to muffle a long, wrenched sound.

Slowly, they come down together, breathing in time. Edelgard closes her eyes and squeezes his hands as they sway in place, and wordlessly Hubert hugs her tighter. A happy warmth blooms in her chest.

When she finds her voice again, she asks him, “What fell off the desk?”

She feels a kiss land behind her ear. “Hm?”

“Something was clinking earlier. Sounded like metal.”

“Oh.” Hubert cranes his head to the side, searching. “Yes. It was the clock.”

“The—” Edelgard spins around much too fast; spots dance in her vision for a second before she finds Hubert’s face above. “The clock?! So you weren’t really—”

“Keeping track of time? No, not at all.” He smiles serenely as his hands slide down to rest at her lower back. Serenely, yet also very, very smugly. “I could never be so cruel, my lady, to deny you my undivided attention.”

Edelgard scowls, but judging from the blush she feels pool in her cheeks, she’s not surprised that it has no effect on Hubert’s glee. Still, she pokes his chest in accusation, declaring, “You. You are terrible.”

“Terrible,” he agrees, ducking his head to rest his forehead against hers, "but predictable.”

And, well, as he kisses the top of her head, she can’t really argue with that.

* * *

The Edelgard of the Lone Moon has to wear her highest-collared gown for St. Indech’s Day. But she uses the requisite hour of cathedral services—every second spent not acknowledging Hubert’s told-you-so glances, nor his very deliberate stroke along her wrist when passing her the song book—to plan next year’s strategy.

She will make sure she has at least four weeks' head start.

**Author's Note:**

> Hawt dress inspired by the [incredible 17th century costumes in _The Miniaturist._](http://www.frockflicks.com/the-miniaturist-2017)
> 
> I still have some wip's waiting in the wings, but with how this fall+early winter has been going I don't know if I'll have them out before the end of the year. If I don't, I just wanted to wish all my readers happy holidays and a safe new year <333 ~~get ready for Another Year of All Edelbert Fic 2021 let's go~~


End file.
